In a brightly lit room with a community centre vibe, six young authors are sitting in on rehearsals for their debut plays. One has a pair of young men hallucinating on acid, and charts the domestic consequences that follow. At least two more feature similar displays of dis-harmony. Arguments in the plays are fierce, and all too often explode into brutal stabs of violence. In-yer-face? The material makes the hardest boiled fare of the 1990s look like they’re faking it by comparison.
With nine actors and two directors working against the clock, there’s an urgency to proceedings that lends the atmosphere an intensity which would under normal circumstances be spread out at a more leisurely, exploratory pace. Today, however, there’s no time for such niceties, as each writer chips in with suggestions on how their work can be improved. “More violence,” says one over the hubbub, clearly knowing the market he’s after. Mostly, though, while far from shy, the writers stay quiet, in turns bemused, amused and utterly fascinated at what happens to their hard work once it’s taken off the page and made flesh.
At first glance, other than the higher than usual density of controlled chaos, the scene looks like any other rehearsal room, which by their very nature are very private places where ideas are tried out in a safe environment. As it turns out, this particular room is safer than most, as is demonstrated when a couple of prison guards come into the room unprompted to investigate what the commotion is all about. It’s only then you remember that the action described above is all taking place in Polmont Young Offenders Institute, and that Chris, Drummy, James, Joseph, Rabbie and Willy, the six authors taking part in The Traverse Theatre’s Outwrite project, are inmates here.
Initiated by The Traverse’s Learning and Participation Officer, Noelle O’Donaghue, Outwrite was born out of Class Act, The Traverse’s celebrated annual project, in which new plays by high school pupils are developed by professional writers, actors and directors. As institutions go, Polmont doesn’t feel that different to a school. Only the short window of time allowed on the project is noticeably restrictive. With just one ninety minute session a week to play with, not a minute has been wasted to make it happen.
“It’s been entirely different from Class Act”, says O’Donaghue, who’s visited Polmont for every session, “and in a way I feel I’ve had to learn a different language. We’ve probably been more laidback than we would in a school, which I didn’t expect, but the boys have all been very supportive of each other. We obviously have no idea what’s been happening in the prison from one week to the next which might affect the boys’ behaviour, so we have to make allowances for that and work around it.”
For playwright Alan Wilkins, whose own work, Carthage must Be Destroyed, was produced at The Traverse, as a former English teacher he recognises the need to work differently.
“There is a level of support required with this group that’s a bit higher,” he says, “and we’ve had that. At the start, there was a lot of showing off, and we lost sight a little bit that it was a writing exercise and not a drama exercise. Once we got that back, it became a lot more focussed.”
With just half an hour’s rehearsal of each play, there’s a speed dating feel to proceedings. Directors Cheryl Martin and Neil Doherty channel all their energy into each script, tweaking them into dramatic life with bits of business that focuses each work. Both are careful not to ride roughshod over the plays with their own ideas, but consult each writer, getting them involved with the creative process. What’s surprising is the sophistication of some of the work. All six write in their own voice, without affectation or any attempts to stifle or suppress its unabashed coarseness.
Drummy’s play, set among a warring family at their dead father’s funeral, breaks out of TV naturalism via a series of short monologues played directly to the audience. Elsewhere, there are more instinctive forces at bay. James, whose play opens with a beggar claiming to be a younger man’s father and later features a knife attack in a pool room toilet, says he “made it up in five minutes. It’s not finished yet, though. I don’t know how it’ll end.”
While most of the plays take place in living rooms, bars and pool halls, Rabbie’s locates the action in the jungle for a gritty adventure that more resembles a local version of Indiana Jones than the often bleak realism of the other works.
“In terms of subject matter,” says Wilkins, “our only remit was to avoid their own cases and not put in anything that was insulting to staff, which I was happy with. After that anything went, though I thought we might end up with things in a wider range of locations than we did. At the end of the day, most of them are set in worlds that they know. I was always quite wary of any script that glorifies violence or makes it glamorous, but that hasn’t happened.”
O’Donaghue points out that “The boys have been interested in the morals of the stories, even though a lot of the work is pretty vicious.”
“If they’d been written by someone from a normal school,” Wilkins points out, “you wouldn’t bat an eyelid.”
However full-on the content of the plays, no-one seems out to deliberately shock. Chris for one talks of a message he wants to get over through the play, about how drugs are bad and can destroy your life. Of the rehearsal process itself, watching actors play out his words “helps your imagination, ‘cos you can vision it more. I just hope it’s as good in performance as it was there. See, the message I want to get across, I hope people take it as saying that drugs isn’t the way to go rather than just some daft wee story about people on acid.”
Once Outwrite is over, Chris will continue exploring his creative side with an art class and a writing project, Tales For Tots, designed for young parents. This week, Outwrite will culminate with a performance of all six plays. While Thursday’s public showing at The Traverse will be a valuable insight into the creative process, the one that really matters will be today’s display inside Polmont itself. This will be in front of the writers peers within the institution, and will be the boys’ first taste of first night nerves. Not that any of them seem overly fussed at the prospect. At the end of the final session, they’re practically swaggering with anticipation.
Beyond his pilot edition of Outwrite, there are high hopes for it happening again. What happens next for the boys taking part in this year’s scheme, however, remains to be seen.
“In an ideal world,” says Wilkins, “we’d find a brilliant writer and put his play on at The Traverse in three years time. But in a way that’s the least of it. It’s become about literacy, self-esteem and finding somewhere for the boys to channel their energy. We’ve watched the boys develop over the last few weeks, supporting each other and becoming a cohesive group. That’s something that’s been really refreshing, whatever the reasons are why they’re in here.”
Outwrite, Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh, Thursday 4th December, 7.30pm
www.traverse.co.uk
The Herald, December 2nd 2008
ends
With nine actors and two directors working against the clock, there’s an urgency to proceedings that lends the atmosphere an intensity which would under normal circumstances be spread out at a more leisurely, exploratory pace. Today, however, there’s no time for such niceties, as each writer chips in with suggestions on how their work can be improved. “More violence,” says one over the hubbub, clearly knowing the market he’s after. Mostly, though, while far from shy, the writers stay quiet, in turns bemused, amused and utterly fascinated at what happens to their hard work once it’s taken off the page and made flesh.
At first glance, other than the higher than usual density of controlled chaos, the scene looks like any other rehearsal room, which by their very nature are very private places where ideas are tried out in a safe environment. As it turns out, this particular room is safer than most, as is demonstrated when a couple of prison guards come into the room unprompted to investigate what the commotion is all about. It’s only then you remember that the action described above is all taking place in Polmont Young Offenders Institute, and that Chris, Drummy, James, Joseph, Rabbie and Willy, the six authors taking part in The Traverse Theatre’s Outwrite project, are inmates here.
Initiated by The Traverse’s Learning and Participation Officer, Noelle O’Donaghue, Outwrite was born out of Class Act, The Traverse’s celebrated annual project, in which new plays by high school pupils are developed by professional writers, actors and directors. As institutions go, Polmont doesn’t feel that different to a school. Only the short window of time allowed on the project is noticeably restrictive. With just one ninety minute session a week to play with, not a minute has been wasted to make it happen.
“It’s been entirely different from Class Act”, says O’Donaghue, who’s visited Polmont for every session, “and in a way I feel I’ve had to learn a different language. We’ve probably been more laidback than we would in a school, which I didn’t expect, but the boys have all been very supportive of each other. We obviously have no idea what’s been happening in the prison from one week to the next which might affect the boys’ behaviour, so we have to make allowances for that and work around it.”
For playwright Alan Wilkins, whose own work, Carthage must Be Destroyed, was produced at The Traverse, as a former English teacher he recognises the need to work differently.
“There is a level of support required with this group that’s a bit higher,” he says, “and we’ve had that. At the start, there was a lot of showing off, and we lost sight a little bit that it was a writing exercise and not a drama exercise. Once we got that back, it became a lot more focussed.”
With just half an hour’s rehearsal of each play, there’s a speed dating feel to proceedings. Directors Cheryl Martin and Neil Doherty channel all their energy into each script, tweaking them into dramatic life with bits of business that focuses each work. Both are careful not to ride roughshod over the plays with their own ideas, but consult each writer, getting them involved with the creative process. What’s surprising is the sophistication of some of the work. All six write in their own voice, without affectation or any attempts to stifle or suppress its unabashed coarseness.
Drummy’s play, set among a warring family at their dead father’s funeral, breaks out of TV naturalism via a series of short monologues played directly to the audience. Elsewhere, there are more instinctive forces at bay. James, whose play opens with a beggar claiming to be a younger man’s father and later features a knife attack in a pool room toilet, says he “made it up in five minutes. It’s not finished yet, though. I don’t know how it’ll end.”
While most of the plays take place in living rooms, bars and pool halls, Rabbie’s locates the action in the jungle for a gritty adventure that more resembles a local version of Indiana Jones than the often bleak realism of the other works.
“In terms of subject matter,” says Wilkins, “our only remit was to avoid their own cases and not put in anything that was insulting to staff, which I was happy with. After that anything went, though I thought we might end up with things in a wider range of locations than we did. At the end of the day, most of them are set in worlds that they know. I was always quite wary of any script that glorifies violence or makes it glamorous, but that hasn’t happened.”
O’Donaghue points out that “The boys have been interested in the morals of the stories, even though a lot of the work is pretty vicious.”
“If they’d been written by someone from a normal school,” Wilkins points out, “you wouldn’t bat an eyelid.”
However full-on the content of the plays, no-one seems out to deliberately shock. Chris for one talks of a message he wants to get over through the play, about how drugs are bad and can destroy your life. Of the rehearsal process itself, watching actors play out his words “helps your imagination, ‘cos you can vision it more. I just hope it’s as good in performance as it was there. See, the message I want to get across, I hope people take it as saying that drugs isn’t the way to go rather than just some daft wee story about people on acid.”
Once Outwrite is over, Chris will continue exploring his creative side with an art class and a writing project, Tales For Tots, designed for young parents. This week, Outwrite will culminate with a performance of all six plays. While Thursday’s public showing at The Traverse will be a valuable insight into the creative process, the one that really matters will be today’s display inside Polmont itself. This will be in front of the writers peers within the institution, and will be the boys’ first taste of first night nerves. Not that any of them seem overly fussed at the prospect. At the end of the final session, they’re practically swaggering with anticipation.
Beyond his pilot edition of Outwrite, there are high hopes for it happening again. What happens next for the boys taking part in this year’s scheme, however, remains to be seen.
“In an ideal world,” says Wilkins, “we’d find a brilliant writer and put his play on at The Traverse in three years time. But in a way that’s the least of it. It’s become about literacy, self-esteem and finding somewhere for the boys to channel their energy. We’ve watched the boys develop over the last few weeks, supporting each other and becoming a cohesive group. That’s something that’s been really refreshing, whatever the reasons are why they’re in here.”
Outwrite, Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh, Thursday 4th December, 7.30pm
www.traverse.co.uk
The Herald, December 2nd 2008
ends
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